


Easy Cash

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Feuilly takes a job as an escort. </p>
<p>Warning, non-con actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Cash

It was for the money. Always for the money. 

He had taken the job when he was down on his luck, behind in his bills, working slave hours to make ends meet. It wasn't going to be a job that lasted him for a long time, but rather, something to get him back on his feet until he could find a new apartment, maybe save some for emergencies that may come up down the road. 

The money was too good to pass up. A very little amount of work for a paycheck bigger than his weekly combined at his other two jobs? How could he even think to say no? Sure, working as an escort wasn't the most respectable job, but looking good on someone's arm wasn't exactly a hardship.

The first “date” he was put on had been real simple. Acquire a new suit, courtesy of the gentleman he was escorting, eat a fancy dinner, get jealous glares from the rich bastard's ex wife, get paid, keep the suit. Really, he couldn't ask for an easier job. 

The second had been with a woman, high class, needed someone to attend the opera with her, someone to look good, that she could show off, saying he supported her well. The real story, of course, was that she was fucking the composer of the opera, who happened to be married, but Feuilly could care less, so long as he got paid. 

How could he say no? The money was good. 

His third job was simple, and required very little from him. Which was good, because he was just recovering from a bad bout of pneumonia, and didn't feel up to the stress of putting on an act for everyone to see. 

It was his first overnight job. Nothing too extensive, really. Check into the hotel with the man, give some smiles, drink some wine, go to bed, get up the next morning, have breakfast on the mezzanine for show, get paid.

Of course, it would have all been easier had he not gotten into a fight with Bahorel not even an hour before he needed to get ready. After all, his roommate didn't take kind to the job, referring to it as whoring.

He showed up to the place, never the less, clean shaven and neatly dressed, red curls a bit messy on his head. He gave that fake little smile, seeing the man that he was to spend the night with, trying not to count the similarities he had to Bahorel in appearance. They greeted each other like old lovers, putting on the act.

Getting used to putting on this show was getting too easy, already. His chest ached from the pneumonia still, but never the less, he let the man lead him to the room, all smiles and witty banter, flirting and pretending to enjoy each others' company. 

The room was far less classy than he had expected, and figured it was fine, seeing as how it was all for show anyway. He was used to second class, really, and this was better than what he would have gotten if it was just himself. The wine was sitting on the nightstand, cheap and having previously been opened, half the bottle nearly gone. He looked to his client, trying to smile, earning a slightly intoxicated smile in return. 

“Sorry. Was here earlier..” The man hiccuped. “Needed to get a -hic- start on the -hic- wine..” 

“It's not problem, Monsieur. Why don't we finish that bottle and head to bed.” 

Feuilly was all smiles, very polite, pouring the man another glass, hoping that the drink would get him drunk enough to pass out. He really didn't feel like dealing with a drunk tonight. After all, he got enough of drunks with Grantaire around on a regular basis, and for some reason, he doubted this client would not be as fun.

The man drank the glass far too quickly, telling Feuilly to have one as well, insisting. With a hesitant smile, he poured himself one and the man another, bottle being set down before he sipped the far too strong wine. He set it down, half drained, and smiled. “Monsieur, can I interest you in anything else for the evening?”

“Hmm.. Take off that..” The man gestured to the jacket, shirt, and tie. “That stuff.. I want to see what I've bought.” Despite the slurred words, the man seemed very interested in getting Feuilly out of his clothes.

“Monsieur.. that's not part of the contract.. I'm not a prostitute..” He reminded, a little nervous about the situation, only getting more tense when the man leaned forward, 'accidentally' spilling Feuilly's wine glass all over him. 

“Oh oops.” The man gave a sly grin, obviously not apologetic, hands fumbling forward onto the ginger's shirt, starting to undo his things. “Best get these off.. wouldn't want the wine to stain..” 

Cheeks turning a shade of pink, he pulled back, though, having been sitting against the wall, he couldn't really go anywhere, breath caught in his throat. “Monsieur.. I can-”

The press of lips against his own forced him quiet, the strong taste of cheap wine filling his mouth as the gentleman pressed his tongue in, forcing Feuilly's lips apart, the other's hands ripping at his shirt, pulling buttons off, the tie still around his throat, getting pulled a little too tight, cutting off his airway. 

Gasping, he pulled back, pushing lightly at the man, trying to get his mouth back to himself. “Monsieur.. please.. I'm not here for this..” But the man was all too insistent, pulling the tie again, causing the ginger to choke a little for his breath, the strain making his pneumonia angered lungs flare unhappily, forcing him to give in, just enough to catch his breath, cheeks flushed from the sudden lack of oxygen, hating himself for even getting a little aroused at the feel of being cut off from breathing.

Hands just as drunk as the rest of the man, getting the shirt off is less of a matter, pushing Feuilly back, chair clattering to the floor as he landed, wincing. Straddling the other as best he could, the intoxicated client worked to get pants unbuttoned, the zip down..

The feel of rough fingers around his cock sends a jolt through his body, too tight, uncomfortable. He hadn't signed up for this, and his head ached from crashing with the floor. “Monsieur, please.. Stop..”

Yet, his words were lost. The man was too intoxicated to have any regard for his actions, roughly stroking Feuilly until a forced moan came from the ginger's lips, unwanted and definitely not in any form of real pleasure. He tried to will himself to relax, too week from the pneumonia to really fight back, especially at this angle with the other on top of him like he was. 

Feuilly's mind went to Bahorel, trying to think of him instead as the bastard touched him without his consent. Bahorel, with his dark eyes and stupid hair, those bruises that never really fade.. He needed to distract himself, to distance himself, anything. 

The drunk had managed to get the chair out of the way, just enough that he could get between Feuilly's knees, one hand stroking the man below him, the other working to get his own pants undone. 

“You'll like this, you little whore.”

The words came out in a sneer, making the ginger artist feel sick to his stomach. Feuilly's hands went to push the man away, figuring that being touched was one thing, but being fucked was another. He didn't want that, at all. After all, he was still clinging to his virginity, saving it for someone who was special to him. 

But the man simply pulled tight on the tie again, cutting off air, causing him to choke and cough, hands instantly going to try and stop the tie from tightening further.

He heard a groan of obvious frustration as the client finally managed his pants open, only to find that he could not perform. The man had drank too much, leaving him limp in the pants. Swaying a little, he leaned in close to Feuilly, who had been silently thanking god above, peering at him. 

“You're not worth it anyway, whore..” 

Even in slurred speech, the words hurt to hear. He was only so thankful that the man had gotten close enough that he could headbutt him, knocking him out pretty easily. The other's weight was heavy on him, but with enough shifting, he was able to get the man off of him, over to the side. 

For a long while, he lay there, panting softly, heart racing at how close the experience got. But within an hour, he was back on his feet, adjusting his clothes and struggling to pull the man onto the bed. He straightened the room a little and sighed softly, taking the enveloped, leaving a few hundreds on the table for not staying the full night, with a small note, before heading out of the room.

He wasn't sure he could do another night like this, honestly. It had started off simple, but the idea of it getting so messy, so fast, terrified him. He sent a text to the escort manager, telling him briefly what happened, and then made his way to a small, cheap hotel a few streets down, collapsing into a horribly mattress.

The money was good, yeah.. But not that good.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to coincide with a roleplay I'm part of. Not beta'd and probably horribly written. Sorry.


End file.
